


Frenzies of another kind

by Sheriarty



Series: Blank Spaces [11]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: A/B/O, Alpha Eames (Inception), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Arthur calm down pls, Idiots in Love, M/M, Misunderstandings, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Arthur (Inception), Omegas about to throw hands, POV Arthur (Inception), Protective Arthur (Inception), Rivalry, communication is the key boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:55:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26756152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheriarty/pseuds/Sheriarty
Summary: Arthur does not expect Sharim to approach him. If he is honest, he would have been fine not talking to the other more than needed. Arthur stands by his words – he is not jealous of that man, but that does not mean he is amicable towards him, either.__________Second part of the Story of Eames, Arthur and their never ending communication problems. But otherwise it would be boring, right? POV Arthur, this time.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Series: Blank Spaces [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1509056
Comments: 13
Kudos: 44





	1. chapter 1

He knows Eames is pissed when the alpha doesn’t usher him out of the office that night, but instead just leaves without much of a word. On the one hand, Arthur knows he kind of deserves that, on the other, though, it makes him bristle, because the whole team is witness to it, which is just embarrassing. Nobody likes being dismissed. But being dismissed with an audience is even worse. And Arthur enjoys them leaving together, enjoys Eames coming up to him and gently brush over his shoulder, giving him a pointed, but soft look with those impossibly colored eyes, until Arthur sighs and lets him take him home. They have a ritual!

Being deprived of it peeves him enough that he wants to snap at Eames when he gets back, seventy-four minutes later than Eames. He’s glad he took a walk to blow off some steam, taking Tryon and College Street to the epicenter to get them dinner. He knows, for a fact, that Eames forgot about dinner, as he always does, only remembering when his stomach starts to eat itself, may it be 6 p.m. or 11 a.m. Of course, their hotel has a restaurant, a bar, too – but Arthur does not enjoy eating somewhere while on the job. They aren’t here for sightseeing and restaurants. Not that there is much of sightseeing to have in this city. The architecture is beautiful in a few cases, though.

He manages to calmly enter their hotel suite, where the other is sitting in the dark grey arm chair, going over his notes, his suit jacket (a different shade and pattern of grey) crashing horribly with the furniture he is sitting on. He is always such an eye sore, no matter where he sits. He manages to disrupt a perfectly furnished room and Arthur hates his green and salmon monstrosity of a bottom-up with a passion.

Eames doesn’t even greet Arthur, which is fucking ridiculous. Arthur _likes_ being greeted by Eames and it personally offends him on many levels that Eames is withholding these small gesture just because he is being _petty_. Here he is, sitting with one leg bent over the other, his ankle resting on his other knee, going through his file and Arthur can see that his eyes aren’t even moving along the lines. He is such a drama queen and he wants Arthur to know.

“We have to talk,” Arthur sounds as if they are about to discuss his own execution, but if he doesn’t get it out now, he will probably find an excuse in his head to drop the topic.

Eames doesn’t look up from his notes, the fucker, and just hums around the pencil in his mouth, which is unfair, because as soon as Eames puts something in his mouth, Arthur is 15% less effective in basically anything. Barely half a year at being back together and Arthur loses his edge around him. He can’t even be mad. Nobody is ever allowed to know about it, though. It’s the pencil Arthur gave him two months ago in Aruba. It’s golden and gaudy and everything Eames loves about things.

He puts the two bags with take-out onto the table and contemplates whether to sit there or on the couch, which is closer to Eames. The uncomfortable piece of furniture has become way too familiar the last three nights, though, so he decides against it, briefly wandering into the kitchen area to get them cutlery, before pulling one of the chairs out from under the table (demonstratively loudly) and sitting down.

“What’ you got?” Eames doesn’t immediately get up, but at least he looks over to the bags and Arthur exhales slowly through his nose, counting the stripes of Eames’ shirt to remain calm (it only agitates him more because it’s so fucking _ugly_ ).

“Indian,” he takes out the boxes and pushes Eames’ order to the spot next to him on the table, lifting a brow. It’s his favorite, all of it, from the Butter Chicken to the Naan bread to his horrible yoghurt stuff and the disgusting mango drink he claims is the best drink ever invented whenever they decide to eat somewhere that has this stuff. He gets so excited about this shit that Arthur ordered a mixer for their place in L.A. and looked up how to make it. He will definitely not use the amount of sugar recommended.

Arthur might be playing a little dirty, (careful to keep his face blank when Eames does get up to wander over to the table) but he hopes it mollifies the alpha enough into a more talkative mood. And isn’t that just fucking hilarious that it’s _Arthur_ wanting them to talk? Ariadne is becoming a way too insightful influence on him. Stupid betas and their abilities to make everyone make up. He likes what she did with the tips of her hair, though. It suits her.

He gives Eames ten minutes into eating, and even takes a few bites of his Aloo Tamatar, too, before putting the spoon down. Eames sees the gesture as the signal it is supposed to be and lowers the half-eaten Naan bread, looking up. He licks some yoghurt from his thumb, which isn’t fair and Eames knows it, but at least he seems open to conversation.

Now, if only Arthur knew how to break it to him that it is his fault that Arthur is acting the way he is acting without making it sound like he is accusing Eames. Which he is, a little, but it’s the truth, so what is he supposed to do?

“I…,” he starts and trails off, pressing his lips together. They have gotten better at talking. The fact alone that he actually wants to and initiates it, is proof of that, but he still has trouble articulating these things. It’s a learning curve, Eames likes to say.

Eames, obviously taking pity on him, hums, “You wanna talk about why you’ve been acting so weird”.

“You’re the one acting weird,” Arthur immediately grunts back, before wincing a little at the five-year old comeback, adding: “The reason I am… acting like this is because you are not yourself around,” he really tries not to pull a face, “Sharim. And it makes me… angry”.

Eames looks at him for a beat, blinking. “What does that have to do with you?” he wonders, seemingly genuinely surprised, but not denying that he is not being his normal self.

It has a bit of a Deja-vu to it, Arthur muses, thinking back to painful memories of Mal – and of Eames taking care of him afterwards, being angry at him for going back to her again and again. How he had tried explaining that he couldn’t watch Arthur do this to himself and how Arthur had not understood.

He understands a little better now, he thinks.

“I know it’s not-… it doesn’t really concern me and it’s not the fact that he is there and you two are compatible and you clearly know each other-“

Eames opens his mouth as if to contradict him, but Arthur lifts a hand to indicate he isn’t finished. “I know you two worked together years ago. It’s _not_ about him or whatever was between you two. I’m not going to lie, it doesn’t sit well with me and a part of me doesn’t want him there, but if that would be the reason, I would clash with him, not you. You’re acting strange and it makes me uneasy. You’re unusually quiet and… you’re small when he’s in the room-“

“Now, you’re exaggerat-“

“-And I just want to protect you from this,” Arthur talks over him, a little louder, a little rushed, annoyed at being interrupted twice and wanting to get this out.

Eames blinks, again, the two of them looking at each other for a beat, before Eames frowns and purses his lips, dismissing his words. Arthur would lie to say that doesn’t hurt, because here he is, pouring out his heart and Eames, the absolute dick, doesn’t even understand it.

“Forget it,” he spits out, putting the fork down with more force than needed and standing up abruptly. He doesn’t need to sit here and have Eames take the piss out of him.

“Arthur, come on, don’t be like that,” Eames replies, reaching out to him, but Arthur snatches his wrist away before the other can touch him, giving him a sour look.

“Don’t be like _what_?”

“Like that-“Eames huffs, gesturing to him vaguely, which has Arthur’s hackles rise.

“Hurt?” he snaps back, because he _is_ and Eames is being an ass about it.

The admission obviously catches Eames off-guard, blinking a little owlishly. Arthur scoffs and strides past Eames’ chair towards the bathroom, very aware of the fact that he is being dramatic. Yes, maybe he could have gone around the table instead of behind Eames – but then the alpha wouldn’t have been able to scamper to his feet so quickly and snatch him up in a hug.

Arthur squirms for show and shoves at him with a half-hearted snarl that has no heat in it, while Eames tightens his arms around his waist and pushes his face into Arthur’s neck, just the way he _knows_ Arthur loves it. It has the omega snarl again, but it’s subdued now. Eames’ breath is hot against his neck, his scent creeping into Arthur’s senses and Eames knows, this clever dickhead that Arthur can’t stay mad at him when he does this.

“I’m sorry, darling,” Eames’ breathe puffs on his skin and he nuzzles him there and Arthur pretends to be too cross to care for a few more moments, before eventually giving in and letting the other push kisses against the side of his face, apologizing in between. If anyone else were to coddle him like that, Arthur would have bitten their nose off without even blinking. He allows it, secretly enjoying the brush of Eames’ lashes against his cheekbone, a unique sensation Arthur only learned he enjoyed with Eames in his life.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Arthur, truly,” Eames sounds like he is swearing on the grave of his mother. Arthur sighs, uncomfortable, and already having forgiven him. “I know. It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter, darling. And it does concern you,” the alpha disagrees passionately, “. Let’s talk about it”, relaxing his arms around Arthur, who gives a disgruntled noise and shuffles closer to bury his own face into the crook of Eames’ neck instead, closing his eyes so he does not have to look too closely at Eames’ horrendous bottom-up. At least that’s what he is telling himself.

“In a minute”.

* * *

The minute turns into twenty and them migrating to the couch, which is way more comfortable with both on them on it, even if a little too small, Arthur decides.

Something between his shoulder blades seem to unlock while they lie there together, Arthur lazily drifting in and out of dozing on Eames’ chest. He realizes it’s most likely because they hadn’t been this close for days (the way Arthur had been crowding Eames at work didn’t count), at least not in a peaceful way. And they both definitely hadn’t been sleeping well, either. Eames always gets horribly quiet when he doesn’t get enough sleep.

He’s silently enjoying Eames tracing patterns over his back, the fold of his pristine white dress shirt catching on his fingers once in a while, when the alpha speaks up again: “I met Sharim when I was … Nineteen, I think. Maybe twenty”.

Arthur stiffens a little, he can’t help it, but is quick to settle again, pulling himself up a little more, so that he can rest his cheek against Eames’ collarbone while listening.

“It’s probably a good thing you didn’t know me back then. I wasn’t much of a person,” Eames huffs out a small, self-deprecating laugh and his hand pauses for a moment, before taking up its caress again. Arthur is quiet, waiting for him to continue.

“Well, you can imagine. Like most insecure young alphas. Didn’t really look it, either. But well, here we are ... Anyway, I was rather unimpressive. And I tried to compensate when I met Sharim. Loud, demanding, entitled, the whole shenanigans. Trying to play tough, but really, I was just overwhelmed and scared. I mean, you got a taste of how much of a dick I can be when I feel backed into a corner,” Eames continues, sighing on the last part and squeezing Arthur’s neck briefly, when he feels the omega going tense at the memory.

Oh yes, Arthur remembers all too well how vicious Eames could be if he put his mind to it, remembers that night in a hotel in Germany. He doubts he will ever forget the humiliation. Or the pin prick of fear when the muzzle of the gun had pressed to the back of his head. He has forgiven Eames. But he won’t forget it. He is pretty sure Eames won’t ever forgive himself.

“Anyway, it was my fifth big job, I think, since leaving the military. Boy, I was a git, flying on my own over-confidence like a winged asshole, because I was the only one to that time that managed to change appearance in dreams, as if that crowned me king. Well, I certainly thought I was the shit. I would probably hit my old self with a bat when I had the chance now …” Eames seems to trail off a moment, snorting: “No, I’d definitely hit myself, repeatedly”.

“I believe there is not a single person that wouldn’t do the same to their old self,” Arthur agrees, because he would, without a doubt, shake his youngster self for an hour straight. And then maybe hug him and tell him he’d be okay at some point. That he’d find Eames. Get happy. Sit with him in their flat in L.A. and watch Eames holler at the soccer players on screen, while half-heartedly doing a crossword puzzle himself, smiling and curling his naked toes against Eames’ feet on the table.

Eames pushes a small kiss to the crown of Arthur’s head and the omega feels him smile into his hair. It makes his heart ache. “I would love to meet eighteen year old Arthur,” he chuckles and Arthur scoffs, because: “Believe me, you wouldn’t,” Arthur assures him, nudging his nose against Eames’ collarbone to prompt him, “You were telling me about the job”.

“Oh yes, well- Anyway, we met up in Bali, Canggu. Schenk, Johnson-“

“ _The_ Johnson?”

“You bet. Johnson, Sharim and me. I’m still thanking the gods that Johnson wasn’t there the first day when Sharim and I met. Never would’ve lived that one down. Schenk still takes the pisses out of me when we meet. Can’t fault her, it was a shit show. We instantly connected when he came into the room and I made quite a fool out of myself. Not unlike you did back then,” Eames teases and it earns him a punch to the rips (“Fuck you, Eames”), which has Eames yelp and laugh at the same time.

“Ouh, fuck, okay, sorry- I was way worse than you, I acted like a cock. He straight up punched my lights out when I tried to advance and yes, he was that small back then, too… He was on meds already – his mate had died a few months prior,” Eames sounds as if it physically pains himself how much of an idiot he had made of himself.

Arthur inhales through his teeth, because _ouch_.

“Yeah, indeed. I didn’t know that, of course. And I didn’t stop being a pushy asshole even when I started taking meds, too. So… I tried to advance on him again at the end of the job-“, Eames stops there, his hands curling into Arthur’s sides briefly and Arthur frowns, but before he can look up to prompt the other into continuing, Eames already does:

“He kicked _my ass_ into the next century, I tell you. Broke my nose, two of my rips, I think two or three fingers? It was wild. Really taught me a lesson to accept a rebuke when I get one,” Eames hums then, sounding a little wistful about it, but there is underlying guilt in his voice.

Arthur knows what Eames is talking about – it’s normal for alphas and omegas to clash in young years. He, himself, had had his fair share of fights with alphas (and on occasion other omegas), when migrating between puberty and adolescence. That Eames sounds guilty isn’t news to Arthur. The alpha is quite left winged liberal in his beliefs, thinking that all urges and instincts are never to be an excuse for certain behavior.

Arthur thinks himself a little more of a traditionalist in the sense that he never had any qualms about going after what his instincts tells him and fight what his body tells him to fight. So, hearing about an omega beating up an overbearing alpha? Nothing all that scandalous in Arthur’s opinion. As an omega it’s your right to assert your boundaries quickly and brutally. Otherwise alphas just think it’s a playful chase.

“God, it was embarrassing. Really, catharsis, I tell you,” Eames laughs, it sounds a little strange, but mostly nostalgic. How you sound when you talk about breaking your arm after a stupid stunt. “Taught me quite the lesson”.

“Maybe Sharim isn’t that bad, after all,” Arthur muses, but something is off in his chest. He can’t pinpoint it. Eames’ tone of voice leaves a sour taste in his mouth. But he chuckles when Eames playfully tugs on his hair, distracting him.

“Yeah, laugh it up. Well, after that, I really knuckled down. It kind of opened up my eyes about the whole mate-thing, too. What had I been thinking, you know? He’s twenty years older than me and we had nothing, absolutely _nothing_ , in common. The guy had lost his mate three months ago and I didn’t even know that. And just ‘cause our dump hormones zing-ed I wanted to mate? It’s an archaic remnant of a time where we had to mate and reproduce to survive and try to keep gene pools clean,” Eames scoffs and Arthur can almost hear the eye-roll, “Anyone really wonders why there are less and less alphas and omegas? We don’t need that shit anymore”.

Ah, here he goes on one of his left-y rants again, Arthur thinks.

“It’s not all bad ...” Arthur hums against his skin, feeling a little defensive on their behalf and he hears Eames’ chuckle vibrating through his chest. Arthur kisses his collarbone again, the patch of skin he can reach after popping one of the bottoms of his shirt with clever fingers.

“I didn’t- okay, yeah, I just said it’s bad. You’re right, it’s not _all_ bad. Just that part. Being controlled by urges and going absolutely psychotic. It’s stupid. - I don’t mind the whole mating for life thing,” at that he squeezes Arthur a little more to himself and Arthur snorts, but his heart flutters anyway, stupid thing, at the ‘mating for life’.

“… After making real sure we fit together. Just the mindless rutting is a little outdated, don’t you think?”

Arthur hums in agreement, closing his eyes. “So, you’re being all quiet and shy, because he handed your ass to you fifteen years ago?” he summarizes with a little grin playing around the corners of his mouth. Eames’ answer is his hands wandering down to squeeze Arthur’s ass, which is fine by Arthur, too.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur does not expect Sharim to approach him. If he is honest, he would have been fine not talking to the other more than needed. Arthur stands by his words – he is not _jealous_ of that man, but that does not mean he is amicable towards him, either. He would not mind parting ways and never seeing the guy again in his life.

Knowing that he rejected Eames helps a little, but his hackles still rise when the omega walks into the small cafeteria they have for themselves on this floor. They haven’t been in a room alone since starting their job.

Sharim stops for only a second in the door when he spots Arthur by the coffee machine, before taking up his steps again. He walks towards him, obviously to get himself a cup and Arthur swallows the bubbling urge to snarl at him and only squares his shoulders.

He turns back to the machine and resolutely looks down to where the hot liquid is flowing into his cup, trying to concentrate on the smell of fresh coffee and not on the spicey scent coming from the other. That scent rubs him the wrong way – has ever since he first came in the room and he knows Sharim feels the same way.

As soon as the last drop falls, Arthur curls his fingers around the handle and takes the porcelain cup, stepping aside to make room for Sharim, who at least had the decency to wait a good distance, only approaching now when the machine is free.

While Arthur stirs sugar into his coffee, he notices Sharim looking at him, while the machine begins to grind fresh beans for him. Arthur’s hackles rise, if possible, even more as he slowly turns to look back, still stirring his coffee and taking the eye-contact as a challenge.

Arthur lifts his brow to prompt him to say whatever it is he apparently wants to say.

Sharim looks back to the machine with indifference, pushing two buttons. “Do we need to talk?” he asks the coffee machine and Arthur narrows his eyes.

“Do we?”

“You tell me.”

“Sounds like you want to,” Arthur replies, his tone flat as he turns his eyes back to his coffee, too, listening for the smallest movement from the other. He can’t assess Sharim – his research told him little besides the fact that the guy had been in business for years, is a good chemist, reliable, quiet and efficient. Low risk taking, moderate jobs only, traditionalist, not very social, but not aggressive. Typical for a bonded person whose mate died. When you don’t go crazy, you usually get… quiet, grey... your print in this world goes stale.

“Is there anything you need to know?” Sharim decides to reply offhanded, while the machine hums, liquid pouring into the new cup. Arthur grips his spoon tightly, and suddenly he understands why Cobb insisted on always being in the room with him and Sharim, or having Ariadne there. Now, with them alone, Arthur feels the tension frizzle dangerously at the edges, building between them with rising speed. He turns around fully now, losing the façade of nonchalance. Who are they kidding? They’re sizing each other up.

“I don’t think there is,” he replies, voice cool, but there is a sharp edge to his words, because, what does that guy think he is implying here? That Arthur needs information from _him_? “Eames told me about you”.

At that, Sharim turns to face him fully as well, lifting his dark brows and rising his cup to his lips, taking a sip as if the coffee isn’t scalding hot and as if they aren’t standing two feet apart, ready to throw hands if one of them says the wrong thing. “He did?”

Arthur doesn’t know if the guy is taking the piss, so he just nods curtly, watching him silently. The omega wants to say something to him, Arthur knows. He just doesn’t know how to, he figures.

“So, he told you that I handed him his ass couple of years ago,” Sharim offers and although it had amused Arthur last night when Eames had told him exactly that, hearing it from someone else now makes something hot and angry spike in the pit of his stomach and he knows it must show on his face, because the other omega doesn’t exactly smile, but his dark lips twitch a little. “Oh, he didn’t?”

“He did,” Arthur retorts in a warning tone. Eames told him, because Eames and him talk now, it’s a rule and they _communicate_ , okay? Who the fuck does this guy think he is, knowing anything about what Eames says or doesn’t say?

Sharim hums, cocking his head a little and the gesture has Arthur’s finger curl even more around the cup, imagining smashing it over his head. “So, there’s no reason for bad blood here,” Sharim surmises.

Oh, Arthur wouldn’t mind some blood, he thinks privately, because something makes him want to throw the hot coffee in his face. But he keeps his thoughts behind closed lips, reminding himself that Sharim here had been in his right rebuking Eames back then and that it’s only to Arthur’s luck that he did. So, he tells him exactly that: “You rebuked him when he tried to advance you, I don’t see why I should feel anything about that”.

At that Sharim’s brows both rise in union and he scoffs – this must have been the most facial expression Arthur has seen of him yet.

“Advance? He was barely twenty years and 150 pounds of piss and vinegar, he didn’t advance on anything,” and while his tone is mostly callous, there is a curl of _something_ else around his lips that makes Arthur’s blood boil.

“And what do you mean by that?” he asks sharply, feeling defensive of his definitely not twenty years & 150 pounds anymore - mate. And even if he would be – what the fuck does it matter what size he was? What century is this? Are they going to measure his dick next?

Sharim takes another sip of his coffee and watches him with dark eyes, as if he is trying to make out what exactly Eames had told Arthur and what he should tell him and it makes Arthur just all the more angry.

“When we clicked-,” Arthur feels his mouth turn into a snarl when Shairm says this, “I knocked him out with one hook as a greeting. He didn’t get up for a whole minute. Speaks for itself how unfit he was to be an alpha back then. I thought I had been clear enough that time that I was not interested. But, you know how these young alphas are. Can’t accept a no,” Sharim curls his nose and while a part of Arthur wants to agree with him, because he _does_ know how young alphas are, he makes sure not to let it show on his face what he thinks of Sharim’s words. It’s principle. And something about the way he says it – it doesn’t sit right with Arthur.

“At the end of the job-“Sharim continues, but Arthur cuts him off with a gesture,

“-I know, he tried advancing again, he told me that,” because he doesn’t need to waste his time listening to Sharim retell the exact same story to him.

Sharim exhales slowly through his nose, as if Arthur is straining his patience. The _nerve_ -

“I said he didn’t advance, not the first time and not the second, either,” he explains, looking at Arthur pointedly, as if Arthur is slow on the uptake. And maybe Arthur is, because – “What?”

“All I'm saying- ... I wasn’t the nicest person back then, I was in a bad state and not up for some baby alpha coming on to me,” Sharim’s voice subdues a little at that and one doesn’t have to be a genius to know what he is referring to, “My mate had just died,” he looks up to Arthur at that and the exhaustion he sees reflected in his eyes is soul deep and jarring.

It leaves him clueless on how to react. What do you say to someone saying that to you, when minutes before you were ready to strangle each other with your ties?

The conversation has taken such a strange turn that Arthur isn’t sure he even wants to continue - or how. And Sharim stares into his coffee, suddenly, looking even less likely to speak up again.

So, he doesn’t say anything, just hums and turns back to the sugar to put some more into his cup, ending the conversation with a churning stomach and a head full of questions, as he leaves the cafeteria.


	3. Chapter 3

Later, when they’re lying in bed together, one of Arthur’s leg swung over Eames’, their bodies sweaty and lax from sex, the alpha keeps trying to engage Arthur, planting kisses to the side of his face and the corners of his mouth. But Arthur’s mind is elsewhere, not responding much besides a few lazy pecks here and there. He realizes it frustrates Eames the moment the alpha huffs out and mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously much like “Why are you thinking so loudly”.

It has Arthur roll his eyes, because it’s Eames’ own fault and he tells him as much, “I’m thinking about what you’re not telling me”. Arthur had tried getting anything out of Eames after telling him about his weird encounter with Sharim, but Eames had tried to weasel out of the conversation and actually managed to distract Arthur with far nicer activities, hence them lying in bed now after some mind blowing and seriously overdue sex. But now Arthur’s thoughts circle back to the topic and he still wants to know.

It has the annoying effect of Eames’ face settling into a stubborn frown. Arthur knows that frown. It’s the –I am actually hurt but don’t want to admit it- frown. The man turns away with a frustrated sound and actually rolls onto his other side, showing Arthur his back. Which is ridiculous, what are they, twelve?

Arthur stares at the broad back greeting his face (admittedly a lovely ink-colored back with pretty bite marks of his own making) and is contemplating whether to swat it or throw a pillow at Eames’ head, when he notices how stiff the other one is holding himself, radiating discomfort. The omega blinks, watching Eames’ immovable form, slightly puzzled. Eames doesn’t often tense up like that, even in the worst kind of situations he cracks a joke while ducking away from gunfire. What happened back then that Eames so _vehemently_ doesn’t want to talk to him?

Arthur starts to feel uncomfortable in his own skin and realizes it’s some kind of guilt beginning to gnaw on his stomach. He shuffles closer to Eames, until he can hug him from behind and press a chaste kiss to the man’s nape. He doesn’t want to be the reason for Eames to feel like this. He really hates how easily Eames can make him feel like shit by not talking. Eames not talking is a level 10 emergency, because usually the alpha always wants to talk everything until it’s beyond dead.

“Okay. You don’t have to tell me,” he mumbles, arms squeezing around him, until he feels Eames relax. “.. I love you,” Arthur adds even quieter and it’s not the first time they say it, but it always leaves him feeling vulnerable. Eames doesn’t immediately react, but Arthur hears and feels his shuddering breath, before the other curls his hand around Arthur’s against his chest.

“It was scary, back then,” Eames’ voice eventually breaks the silence between them and Arthur, having already thought the topic to be done, opens his eyes again. “I was scared of what was happening and I got even more scared when the guy just beat me up without even letting me come into talking range”.

Arthur keeps quiet, as if his tongue is suddenly weighing a pound, but he feels Eames’ heartbeat against his palm and he holds him a little tighter.

“I thought I liked him. Or at least I thought he was cool. He was older and quiet and competent and over the course of the job, I just… I was confused and I didn’t know if I liked him, genuinely, or if it was just our compatibility. I wanted to know, to find out,” Eames continues. His voice is quiet and there is a rawness to it Arthur hasn’t heard often and never in a good context. “I tried to keep it polite, told myself to wait until the job was done. The blockers helped keeping it cool. I just wanted to ask him on a date, get to know him, just talk. Especially after I heard about his mate, I just wanted to – communicate, I had no clue what I was supposed to do.”

There is a long pause, Eames breathing through his nose and Arthur feels horrible, because he isn’t quite sure whether Eames might be crying right now and if so, it will be his fault, because he just has to make him talk, he can never not poke at secrets-

“He showed me exactly what he thought of me trying to advance again, beating the fuck out of me. And well, I let him and that was it.”

Heavy silence settles betweem them, while Arthur tries to decode that message. And it draws on Arthur why he had felt so wrong listening to Eames about the story before, why it had made him feel so uneasy and what that something was, that rubbed him the wrong way about the conversation with Sharim, too.

“He just beat you up? Because you wanted to ask him on a date?” he repeats, incredulously, because what the fuck? He thought Eames had tried pouncing the guy or whatever else young alphas liked to do to establish their dominance-

Eames sighs and his whole body seems to deflate a little, causing Arthur to curl more around him, tugging his knees against Eames’ thighs. “I was advancing on him and-“

But Arthur tightens his arms around him, interrupting him: “That’s not advancing, Eames. You were being fucking civil and he reacted like a dick”.

“Well, you guys are allowed to react like that, you’re showing the alpha you’re not interested. Nobody cares when an omega shows teeth, Arthur. It’s normal.”

And Arthur opens his mouth to argue, but then he stops, because _oh_. _Oh_. It _is_ normal. He himself thought it wasn’t at all reason to flip tables when hearing about Sharim knocking Eames out. Because it is totally socially acceptable for omegas to decline alphas like that. Nobody bats an eye about it. Nobody says anything against it, because it _is_ normal. You beat their overbearing behavior right out of their thick heads to assert boundaries and alphas are supposed to understand that refusal and leave them the fuck alone.

Something in Arthur’s chest hurts and he urges Eames to roll onto his back, until he can climb on top of him and wriggle his arms around his neck to hug him, pressing his face into Eames’ neck. He feels, more than he hears, Eames’ confused laughter, as he hugs him back easily.

“What’s that about?” he wonders and Arthur just squeezes him a little harder and mutters:

“It’s _not_ okay.”

Eames is quiet for a moment, before answering, voice a little unsure in its amusement: “It’s normal. Remember, you almost brained me on the table that first time”.

Arthur shakes his head again, “It’s not okay. It shouldn’t be.” And it shouldn’t. It shouldn’t be normal if it hurt and scared Eames. It shouldn’t be okay. But he also remembers how he himself had felt, back then, when meeting Eames for the first time. He hadn’t been able to control himself, either.

“I’m sorry I almost brained you on the table,” Arthur mutters, ears burning and Eames stills a second under him, before pressing a stubbly kiss to his ear and cheek, “You weren’t on meds back then, darling, I understand.. but thanks for apologizing,” he mumbles quietly and Arthur can hear the smile in his voice, so it’s probably worth the embarrassment.

* * *

The tension between the two omegas is still tangible, but Ariadne feels less jumpy, which probably means she doesn’t have to fear needing to tackle one of them to the ground anymore in case they throw hands.

Whatever happened between Sharim and Arthur, it must have poured oil on troubled water and while they’re still tense and have a chilly undertone in their interaction, there is no open hostility while they work. And Arthur is far less aggressive in trying to keep Eames out of Sharim’s line of vision.

Maybe he learned that Eames will not spontaneously combust when Sharim looks longer than two seconds at him. Ariadne, for her part, is just glad that they can work the rest of the job in a less awful atmosphere and Eames even starts cracking a joke or two again, when they’re in group meetings or down under in a dream construction, going through the last details of the heist. He’s still a far cry from his usual sunny self, but Ariadne is happy to see a bit of him come through again.

Nevertheless she will make sure to castrate Cobb if he ever puts Sharim onto their team again. Nothing against the guy himself, but Ariadne can’t help it, she starts seething at him in her mind herself because of how he makes Eames and with that Arthur feel. It’s probably her beta hind-brain ringing alarm bells that her pack members are upset because of him.

* * *

“Well, that was unpleasant,” Eames announces as soon as Sharim has left, only having shaken Cobb’s hand in parting and having thrown Eames one last look that had Arthur step half an inch closer to him. Arthur’s eyes narrow at the closed door and he exhales slowly, his hand settling on Eames’ smaller back. He turns to look at Cobb then, speaking out what Ariadne had been thinking anyway: “We’re never doing that again”.

Cobb holds up both his hands and lifts his brow to his hairline. “Believe me, I’d rather not.”

Arthur seems to be satisfied with that answer, not even protesting when Eames reaches for the hand on his back to pull it up and press a kiss to the palm, effectively draining the tension from the omega’s shoulders. “Come on, let’s get out of here before dear Thomas gets wind of the fact that his little root canal treatment took four hours, instead of two,” Eames smirks and all of them agree on that. They would rather be out of Charlotte before the chairman realizes that his dentist had been bribed into keeping him under for them.

They have a strict three day split-politics (or more like, Arthur has it and that means they all have), but they meet up the next weekend back in Paris. Maybe they can make a habit out of this. Ariadne would like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's it, I hope you liked it! I don't have anymore planned for our babies for now. I might come back to this AU at some point, but until then - far well and thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy the second part!


End file.
